It has been a MINUTE

 Hey! So it's been a couple of WEEKS? A good amount of shit has happened (good shit) since my last post on March 7th. Thankfully, I've faithfully taken notes on most of what's been going on. SO when I write my book "Gone Gay" then I will at least be able to look back at this blog and be like OH RIGHT. 

SO, Since March 7th, let's play catch up using my notebook as reference/direct source.

3/7 - "From Shadow Falls" (From when I was still in St. Paul)

Writing from the bottom of Shadow Falls on the Mississippi. This is a subtle waterfall, gentle & half-frozen. It runs down to the river over/down a series of mud & logs that form a shallow stairway. The air smells clean, a bit muddy but crisp. It's cold, but not bitter, probably cause I was warmed a bit by my hiking and climbing. There are some great vantage points here. I was CHASED by the strong smell of ganja--I practically ran from it--the inviting smell of negation. Were I high right now I would be a Past Version of myself that I wish to remain DEAD--or slumbering at least. Comatose? My feet are still warm but I can feel the wetness creeper further in. Is it purposeful that from the falls, looking up, the cross of the war memorial is still visible? Monument builders rarely make accidents? A few moments meditation, then we shall head back up.

3/7 - Reading Mark Doty in the Library

"Of all our locations/ their favorite is the library;/ the director pictures them perched/ on the balustrades, clustering/ on the stairs, bent over/ the solitary readers as if/ to urge us on, to say Here./ have you looked here yet?" 

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Original poem "LOL EMO BITCH"  (inspired by Shawn Mendes Song "Wonder" & after reading Mark Doty's poem referenced above)

My man body/ conditioned to/ give no water/ away, to bear/ my Pots, my Jugs,/ my crystalline/ decanters- never/ letting a drop/ escape. Better/ to let the wind/ on the beach-/ High Head/ near Provincetown/ pull them, drop/ by drop. Stolen/ is taken/ is not given./ Better to let/ the winter fingers/ of Niagara/ slip sly & steal/ the precious liquid life./ All around me/ attendant angels/ marble eyed, loving/ but stern, impatient/ for my blocked/ humanity to unleash/ itself on the wind,/ on the cold air./ Finally, in the/ province of demons,/ in the deep dark,/ in the shadows--/ I give, I relent/ I sob, I repent.

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3/14

Happy Pi Day! Sitting on a fallen tree that's perched over the Mississippi. This is the closest I've gotten to America's Nile. And it's a beautiful day. I reconnected with Kareem today. I also slept in WAY too late so hopefully we can tucker ourselves out with this hike so we can get back on a normal enough schedule for our afternoon horseback riding tomorrow. Making money has been on my mind. Strangely NOT in a stressed out way, more like, I know I need to take pressure off my family at some point & the sooner the better. Behind me are hills, a gorge really, the sides leading up to the main trail. It's nice to be in a city & still be able to feel so isolated. To listen to the river lapping against the snowy banks. Getting out of the house each & every day is the one way I'll be able to "outrun" my melancholic tendencies. I am happy to still be alive, even though sometimes I'm lonely. 

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3/16

Writing from Mankato. I'm on a hill overlooking a Bison Range. Saw a herd of the beasties near a muddy waterhole. Sun is shining overhead, bright blue skies, yellow grassy prairie dotted with a truly amazing number of of Bison poop mounds.  Two quail flew nearby but I didn't manage to catch them on my phone camera. The Bison Range smells like sage & manure & hay. Has an almost farm like smell to it. My shirts off so I can feel the sun on my chest. Today or tonight I REALLY have to work on Psalms. Putting the work into print is more permanent & thus more anxiety inducing BUT fuck it. We've already come this far. 

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3/21 - Writing from North Dakota (Fargo)

Original Poem "Glacial Erratics"

Continental glaciations/ scouring Canada's bedrock/ & bringing fist & car sized/ boulders great distances./ lichen colonies--green flake-like/ organisms--made up of fungus/ & green algae--symbiotic migrants/ none aware of the transportation/ from Winnipeg here to Buffalo River/ State Park, where a strange poet walks/ along the Wide Sky trail/ & mourns the loss of home.

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3/24 - Grand Forks

University of North Dakota Writer's Conference Notes

Jessica Bruder, Sarah Vogel, Cal Lane. 

The COVID pandemic made everyone realize how important local food is. Where do we source our supply? Knowing your farmer becomes important when supply chains break down. [Write a piece about Virginia's food--where does it come from? How far? What are the local sources and are they as expensive as one would imagine?]

Mutual Aid & Solidarity -- "Invisible Hands" group in Brooklyn & "Free Stores." People coming together against common enemy of the pandemic. Forced community building. 

"We The People" Civics engagement program for high schoolers. [What can we do to get more engaged with local politics & influence politicians to create sustainable wages, bring down housing costs, ensure Virginia farmers are taken care of? Small business needs are met?]

If farmers had their choice they would choose LESS corporations, stay small & family owned. They are trying to survive & make the most of what they have. Economic health of towns & cities is tied to farms in their area. "It takes a town to raise a farm"?

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3/24

From Jessica Bruder reading from "Nomadland"

Immersive Journalism as "Productive Hanging Out" 

Look for the "Haunted Nugget" -- what piece of information sticks out and makes you want to do Google searches, what keeps you up at night? 

"New kind of wandering tribe emerging."

"Driving away from the impossible decisions facing what used to be the Middle Class."

"They are surviving America."

"Being human requires more than sustenance. It requires hope."

Rubber Tramp Rondesvouz?

"Subcultures on margins as harbingers of whats to come."

"Breaking the shackles of rent and mortgages"

Joan Didion "Writers are always selling someone out." When writing about someone--there's a GAP between how YOU perceive them & how they perceive themselves. (This reminds of the Mothers reading) 

The best answer is always MORE truth. Show the reader EVERYTHING. Point of view comes from what you've seen, so if you show the reader WHAT you've seen--they will understand your point of view. 

Also--Tom Wolf & Truman Capote were at the UND Writers Conference in '76?! 

Use narrative tools-- scenes, character, dialogue-- to inform rather than "just the facts." 

Showing respect to people via immersive journalism by staying in their worlds with them. Shows their stories are worth telling, their worlds are worth spending time in. 

If it works, make it a workflow! "Scraping Names" for source lists, interviews. 

"Plot Points" = amazing, surprising, interesting gems that you DON'T want to get lost. The "tasty veggies" in the stew. Keep them separate so you don't have to sift them out again. 

Otter = audio transcript app. Text comes through slightly garbled BUT helps with fact checking. 

Through line characters & themes. Creating a BACKBONE for book/piece and then the Vertebrae branch off from there. 

CHRONOLOGY OR THEME as linkages, both work. 

Iowa City Writers Open Mic & Prep-work for The Nation as Muse: Learning from the Postwar Polish Poets, A Frost Place Studio Session

 

Wooden sculpture of Wisława Szymborska in Szydłów 

    This weekend, I will be fortunate & privileged to participate in the Frost Place Studio Session, The Nation as Muse, lead by a poet I admire greatly, Dawn Potter. Before I take down some notes about some prep work for this upcoming class, I wanted to review my participation in the Iowa City Open Mic:

    The event host, Laura, was extremely considerate in letting me take some time at the "mic" to read from one of my poems "Into the West." My friend from back home, Em, was also able to log in and hear my reading. 

    One of my favorite pieces read from Sunday was by one of the participants David Duer, it was a Sestina, of all things! I've said it before & I'll say it again: I don't particularly enjoy formatted poetry (Rondels, Sestinas, Sonnets) because I don't like the feeling of being forced into using certain words or structures. But, David's piece used the first 6 words from the New York Times "Wordle" game to form the ending words for his piece--rather than choosing the words. 

    A sestina is a tricky thing, since you're using the same 6 end words for each stanza, in different line combinations--it can get to the point where the lines are structured in an awkward or forced way, rather than reading smoothly. In this case, even though the author didn't choose the words--but took them from a word game (I've never played Wordle) he took a risk--how would they interact inside the structure of a sestina? But, strangely--it worked out well. It made me want to try picking 6 random words through some totally arbitrary fashion to see if I could make them work together. 

    ANYWAY back to the The Nation As Muse. I am consciously deciding NOT to read the poems we'll be studying ahead of time--I'm not sure why but I want to approach them in the moment. Instead, I am reading about the poets themselves:

    1. Czeslaw Milosz. I am not as familiar with Milosz as I am with Wislawa Szymborska, who is one of my favorite poets (and no not just because I have a thing for adorable old ladies). Reading about Milosz though, I think I would enjoy diving deeper into his body of work. Some of the most telling quotes from the Poetry Foundation overview, for me, are:

"Karl Jaspers, in an article for the Saturday Review, described The Captive Mind as “a significant historical document and analysis of the highest order … In astonishing gradations Milosz shows what happens to men subjected simultaneously to constant threat of annihilation and to the promptings of faith in a historical necessity which exerts apparently irresistible force and achieves enormous success. We are presented with a vivid picture of the forms of concealment, of inner transformation, of the sudden bolt to conversion, of the cleavage of man into two.”"

    The quote above is intriguing to me because of the "constant threat of annihilation" and how that low hanging doom leads to "the cleavage of man into two." I will need to read The Captive Mind to understand what Karl Jaspers means by this.  

"The story of Milosz’s odyssey from East to West is also recounted in his poetry. Milosz’s “entire effort,” Jonathan Galassi explained in the New York Times Book Review, “is directed toward a confrontation with experience—and not with personal experience alone, but with history in all its paradoxical horror and wonder.”

    This is extremely prescient, the "paradoxical horror and wonder" as a result of the "confrontation with experience." The events happening right now (The Russian invasion of Ukraine) make these words easier to understand. The horror of the destruction, the invasion, and the wonder of how it's bringing strangers together in support of Ukraine. Even the wonder of how the people of Ukraine are being brought out of their homes & into such close contact with each other, like these pictures show:

"Milosz stresses the importance of his nation’s cultural heritage and history in shaping his work. “My corner of Europe,” he states, “owing to the extraordinary and lethal events that have been occurring there, comparable only to violent earthquakes, affords a peculiar perspective. As a result, all of us who come from those parts appraise poetry slightly differently than do the majority of my audience, for we tend to view it as a witness and participant in one of mankind’s major transformations.” “For Milosz,” Helen Vendler explained in the New Yorker, “the person is irrevocably a person in history, and the interchange between external event and the individual life is the matrix of poetry.”

    The bold here is mine. Eastern Europe has long been the troubled crossroads between East & West--and I am interested to learn how this historical perspective has shaped the language & emotional structures of Polish poetry. It also puts my own work into a broader perspective--what am I writing about? Myself, one human out of billions--and is that important? 

2. Zbigniew Herbert. Here are the quotes from his bio that stuck with me:

 Robert Hass, writing in the Washington Post Book World, called Herbert “an ironist and a minimalist who writes as if it were the task of the poet, in a world full of loud lies, to say what is irreducibly true in a level voice.”

An ironist: a person who uses irony. Yes, I had to look it up. No, I didn't think this meant he was proficient with a clothes iron. I really love this description: "in a world full of loud lies, to say what is irreducibly true in a level voice." What an amazing way to describe Herbert, if that was the only "blurb" on the book jacket, I would be sold.

“In Poland,” Herbert once stated, “we think of the poet as prophet; he is not merely a maker of verbal forms or an imitator of reality. The poet expresses the deepest feelings and the widest awareness of people. … The language of poetry differs from the language of politics. And, after all, poetry lives longer than any conceivable political crisis. The poet looks over a broad terrain and over vast stretches of time. He makes observations on the problems of his own time, to be sure, but he is a partisan only in the sense that he is a partisan of the truth. He arouses doubts and uncertainties and brings everything into question.” 

    The poet as prophet is a nice counterpart to the name of this weekend's class: The Nation as Muse. Also this makes me rethink my more political poetry I've been writing of late. It's timely, perhaps, but poetry does and will live longer "than any conceivable political crisis" so perhaps I should refocus on: what does this political moment say about us as a people? Rather than berate or condemn, etc. Also this line: "he is a partisan only in the sense that he is a partisan of the truth." Republican, Democrat, no, no, no, be a partisan for what is "irreducibly true," David! 

 

Still, poetry has limited influence. Speaking to Jacek Trznadel in Partisan Review, Herbert explained: “It is vanity to think that one can influence the course of history by writing poetry. It is not the barometer that changes the weather.”

I LOVE THIS AND I HATE THIS. "IT IS VANITY TO THINK THAT ONE CAN INFLUENCE THE COURSE OF HISTORY BY WRITING POETRY. IT IS NOT THE BAROMETER THAT CHANGES THE WEATHER." OK sorry for shouting but this really hit home for me--I don't need to worry about trying to change the world with my verse, I can be happy to be a small, individual barometer for the weather of my time--that's all I need be! 

Miller also sees Herbert’s humor as “a way of resisting the dehumanizing and impersonal language of the state. … Keeping a sense of humor means keeping a private language and avoiding the total politicization of the self.”

Herbert’s poetry is also laced with biblical and Greek mythological allusions. Miller contends that “the lens of myth reduces the glare of contemporary experience, placing it in a perspective that enables [Herbert] to view it without losing his sanity and sense of humor.” He also points out that the use of myth “liberates [Herbert] from the confines of particular historical events. … At the same time the use of myth fleshes out the thin bones of the satire, making it sly and elegant, not obvious and heavy-handed.”

    The use of biblical & Greek mythological allusions are like the lingua franca for nerdy or bookish folks. Like, most of us HAD to read the bible and many of us WANTED to dive into Greek myths. The archetypes, the timeless stories, the colorful and imaginative explanations for natural events. But the way Herbert uses this to "flesh out the thin bones of the satire, making it sly and elegant" is a way of thinking about allusions that I had not previously.

3. Wislawa Szymborska. First, let me just complain quickly about how much shorter Wislawa's bio is compared to Milosz & Herbert. Where's the respect?! Anyway:

In the New York Times Book Review, Stanislaw Baranczak wrote, “The typical lyrical situation on which a Szymborska poem is founded is the confrontation between the directly stated or implied opinion on an issue and the question that raises doubt about its validity. The opinion not only reflects some widely shared belief or is representative of some widespread mind-set, but also, as a rule, has a certain doctrinaire ring to it: the philosophy behind it is usually speculative, anti-empirical, prone to hasty generalizations, collectivist, dogmatic and intolerant.”

    When I was studying Wislawa (yes, we're on a first name basis, DEAL WITH ME) in college, David Wojahn, my poetry professor, made a point to draw our attention to her ironic precision--how she said what she could to avoid State Censorship and how canny readers could she what she was pointing to. The above quote is something new to me, "the typical lyrical situation" being that of a duel between the directly stated/implied position and the question "that raises doubt about its validity." Which means I'm not reading & re-reading Wislawa with the discernment she is owed! 

4. Adam Zagajewski. A quick note, Adam passed away recently, last March. From Poetry Foundation bio:

Writing of Zagajewski’s 1991 collection, Canvas, poet and reviewer Robert Pinsky commented that the poems are “about the presence of the past in ordinary life: history not as chronicle of the dead, or an anima to be illuminated by some doctrine, but as an immense, sometimes subtle force inhering in what people see and feel every day—and in the ways we see and feel.”

    I think this is an evocative description of Zagajewski's poetry: "history not as a chronicle of the dead" but as a "immense, sometimes subtle force inhering in what people see and feel every day." I don't frequently think about how history bears down on the present moment, how it shapes how I see and feel--but it feels like a true statement from Pinsky not just about Zagajewski's work, but about life in general.

    OK, that feels like enough prep work in terms of studying the poets whose work we'll be studying this weekend. I am more excited now than before for this class! 

Deeper Dive: Soomaal House

 

    Yesterday, I put off writing about my experience at the Soomaal House, and even though it's after midnight--I still want to get down a few thoughts & dive deeper into the poetry I witnessed. I have to say, I was impressed at the community--warm & vibrant that the Soomaal House has created in order to bring about a generative/thriving environment for young creators to blossom in. 

    There are some dominant themes that I noticed over the course of the evening: displacement, the meaning of 'home', being or feeling alone/disconnected, preserving culture & tradition while embracing the new world you're living in. I did not hear what I was expecting to hear: anger or strong stances against racism, the feeling of being misunderstood as Muslims living in a Christian dominant country, or other "darker" or more "othered" themes. The poetry was, for the most part--personal, emotional, examining spiritual rather than cultural wounds. 

    One of the poets, Khadija, wrote about how she would drink coffee when she missed her family back home. A line that stuck out from one of her pieces was "I put coffee in your place/to provide the warmth you once did." There was a feeling in the gallery where the open mic was, of recreating home--there was incense burning, coffee beans sitting out raw in a bowl, and Lokho's pictures of Mombasa on the walls. 

    A Soomaal House staff member, Yamafara (not sure of spelling) is a 21 year old student who read a letter she wrote to herself--after her mom had asked her when she'd be getting married (more important than how her studies were going) and the resulting piece was poignant & powerful, "I don't want to get married until I feel and am seen as a grown woman without having to be only called a grown woman because I have a man or kids." When do American parents see their children as adults? When do East African parents see their children as adults? The piece raised these sorts of questions. Later on she indicates she wants people to associate her not with marriage or kids but with "my career, my accomplishments, my art" & boldly states "I don't want to get married until my mother is proud of me for who I am." 

    One interesting difference between the male & female poets, all of them, it seems either first or second generation immigrants from East Africa--is that the men looked & acted differently--and their poetry reflected this aesthetic difference. The ladies, all of them, wore their hair covered & dressed modestly. The guys, however, had a more traditional, high level of confidence not only in how they styled themselves--but in how they wrote & read their work. In one piece, entitled "Past" the artist used staccato rhymes throughout, for example "At every turn/I see bridges burned/No matter how much lessons I've come to learn." His sweater was black with white lettering that read "Humanize the Hood" & that was the only open statement about race that was made that night. 

    I was expecting more material to be focused on race or race relations because of the last few years--the way the Black Lives Matter movement has become a part of the American zeitgeist, the ongoing legal battles for justice, etc. The names that now make up a pantheon of martyrs: Trayvon Martin, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor--the list goes on for far too long. I was expecting this because on Saturday, between 10am & 3pm I had time to kill after checking out of my Minneapolis Airbnb but before checking into my Saint Paul one. So I went hiking--and I encountered a few folks while I was out & about, but only had conversations with 2. One was a white woman who, while I was petting her dog, lamented "how the recent ethnic tension" has ruined the Twin Cities, and another man who was telling me about how Eagle Lake was frozen & safe to walk on--and then went on to make nasty jokes about "how the Africans would freak out" if they went out on the lake. It wasn't a kind commentary on our differences. 

    From the woman--I got the sense that the struggle for justice, for equality (which is not a recent thing) was somehow turning the urban experience into a bad one. From the man--I got a reminder that what makes Minneapolis (to me, and to many others I believe) a unique & amazing American experience--the presence of so many immigrants from Africa--was seen as a source of cruel jokes or racist sentiments, building on an "us vs them" mentality that existed before--with black Americans. As a white guy from the south, I too would freak out if you "veered your truck out onto the lake all of a sudden." I was astounded by the open racism these white people displayed to me, but perhaps as a fellow Caucasian they assumed not only would I understand, but that I would sympathize or agree with their positions. 

    The fact that this racism was not a major subject from the poets at Soomaal House tells me that it's entirely possible the white folks are keeping themselves totally separate--so much so that they aren't interacting with this community in a negative OR a positive fashion. In a way--this is a good thing, but in a way--it's a bad thing that we're becoming so tribal. I will admit to being the only white person in attendance at the Soomaal House open mic--and I have to note my presence there wasn't performative, I'm a stranger in this city & I came out for poetry--not to make any statements. I wasn't expecting or hoping to be the only Caucasian there, but I didn't let it stop me from enjoying myself thoroughly. The fact that there weren't more white people there shows me that bridges need to be built, to connect communities that could benefit from the cultural, spiritual & artistic cross pollination--such as I experienced by attending this reading. 

    Just as with Sarah, in Pittsburgh, who spoke of Rumi with a light in her eyes or Ayad at Carnegie Hall--my experiences on this trip are drastically changing how I see & feel about Muslim Americans. They are members of a peaceful, creative, beautiful community of dreamers & explorers, and they didn't close the doors on me because I was white, or because I was queer. When I find my way, when I settle down into whatever city I end up calling home--I must remember to tear down the silos & walls that keep us separated into our different tribes of Sameness. I must find ways to bring radically different people together--to mix & mingle & be inspired by each other, be illuminated by each other, to be reminded of our common humanity. That, above anything else, will make me joyful. 

Notes from the Soomaal House of Art Open Mic Night (WHERE IS YOUR HOME? Warri Keessan Ess? Lokho Kotile featured poet)

 

    I won't lie, I'm beat. Just tuckered out. This morning I checked out of my Minneapolis Airbnb around 9:45 and my check in at my Saint Paul Airbnb wasn't until 3pm, so I went to the Quaking Bog (no joke), then Maple Grove Nature Reserve & then Eagle Lake. I had a TON of fun, did a LOT of hiking--and then went to my Airbnb, unpacked, then had just enough time to shower before heading out to the Soomaal House of Art (picture of me reading at open mic above). 

 

    I will have to delve into the experience tomorrow, because I just don't have enough mental energy to do it justice tonight--but I really benefited from the experience of hearing from a wide variety of poets who used their East African ancestry & Muslim backgrounds to share some vivid & quite personal art & poetry. It was a truly beautiful evening!

Meditation on Miracle Making

 

    I took this picture on the grounds of the Frick Gallery in Pittsburgh. These trees are 906 miles away, or 14 hours & 42 minutes of driving time. What a miracle it is to be able to travel so far in such a short amount of time. 

    Today I spent a good amount of time writing & editing poetry to flesh out the print version of Psalms. I started this strange journey by self-publishing the digital version in a rush, thinking that it was possible I might not live for very long, and that I wanted to leave something behind. Now that I'm living, and surviving and starting even to thrive--I'm spending time, precious time!--on making the print version the best possible work that I can produce. 

    

    I made a "hit list" of those figures in the US who are most antagonistic to basic LGBTQ rights--whether that be our ability to have books with characters like us in school libraries, get to play on the sports team that aligns with out gender identity or, strangely enough, even the basic right of marriage. Yes, that's still being contested, and in my "home" state of Virginia no less. I started writing poetry that was full of venom and vitriol, setting about the business of "bullying the bullies right back" and I did not flinch away from getting down in the muck with these people. 

    

    It was a rush! I enjoyed the process, and the poetry flowed with strange ease. Then of course, my nightly reading (Real Magic by Wayne W Dyer) makes me feel that all of that poetry--is harm inflicted on myself. From page 71:

            "To move past anger and bitterness, in your mind isolate one person such as you feel has wronged you at some time in your life...Now, just for a few moments, instead of feeling hate and bitterness, try to imagine yourself sending them love. Try to grasp the idea that they came into your life to help you learn a lesson and no matter how painful the lesson, they showed up in your life for a purpose. When you are able to send them love instead of hate, you will not only be healing yourself, you will be on your way to becoming a spiritual person."

    Right? This continues on page 72:

            "Think of a wrong that was done to you as being like a snake bite. When you are bitten by a snake there are two sources of pain. One is the bite itself, which cannot be unbitten...The second source of pain is the venom that is now circulating through you."

            "You, and only you, have the power to send that killer venom out of you; that it is still present within you is your choice. Remember the sage words of Buddha, "You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger." Miracle making is impossible to experience when your insides are poisoned by bitterness toward others."

    

The bold is mine, by the way. I do want to make miracles in my life, to live everyday with a sense of awe. Part of this journey has been to remind myself that I am surrounded by beautiful & amazing experiences, and to open my eyes to the light & joy that exists all around me. Am I closing myself off to my budding ability to experience the miracle of life fully by allowing myself to fill with venom, even if it's being put to the use of fighting for queer rights? These people who I am attacking are vicious, vile & venomous themselves--otherwise, I wouldn't be enjoying the process of writing poetry that tears them apart. I acknowledged that what I was doing was getting down on their level--but excused it by thinking--I'll do this so the rest of the community doesn't have to. Everyone else can rise above them because I'll be lowering myself to meet them. 

    It feels good, it feels right, but am I deluding myself? Isn't it better to reject my desire to attack back, and instead try to write something that pulls these Antagonists closer rather then push them farther away? It feels like it would be a wasted effort to try to make these people see queer folx as deserving of the basic rights they seem so intent on writing legislation to deny us...but there's something larger than the squabbles, and it's looming over us all, isn't it?

    Not the war that's developing in Ukraine, but the larger war that's coming to all humans on the planet. When the climate change we've long been warned of starts to impact every single one of us. In those days, in that time--it will be impossible for us to move forward, to survive, if we are still squabbling with each other. Is it possible to be able to work side by side with these people to save ourselves, to save our planet? This dire future isn't so far off as people would like to think--the time is coming when we will need a Gargantuan solution to the Gargantuan problem we will face--this is something I heard from Ayad and that I feel, deep in my bones, to be true. 

    So, I feel like I have a choice: be a part of the unification of Americans across all our various ideologies, genders, orientations, etc etc etc or be a part of the forces that continue to sow division. Just because these people I want so badly to viciously maul with words have chosen division and enemy-making, doesn't mean that I have to as well. Or am I dramatizing this moment too much, leaning too heavily into my own desire to be a "good" person rather than an "effective" person? 

    At the end of the day--I want to be on the "right" side of history. I think that in my heart, I secretly know what that side is, and how to make sure I am on it.  

Notes from Lee Thomas and Chris Stark reading New Work at Magers & Quinn Booksellers

 

    Tonight, after visiting the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden and the Walker Art Museum, I floated over to Magers & Quinn for the Lee Thomas and Chris Stark reading. 

    Lee read first, from his book Honey in the Dark and I enjoyed his verse immensely. One of the first poems he read was set in a Conference Hotel Restaurant (and that might have been the name of the piece too?) & had a line that I loved about a "murderous smear of jam on a serrated blade." He also read a piece entitled "Likelihoods, Sequels and Spin-offs" which was a meditation on other lives that might have been--if a small choice had been changed, or if things had been slightly different. "Closer to the Mountain" was a piece written before COVID about touch--and what was appropriate or what verged on becoming too significant. As a queer man--the way I think about touch is very different than others, so this piece really resonated with me. 

    Chris Stark read from her book Carnival Lights, which was historical fiction and moved backwards & forwards in time with the main characters being two Ojibwe girls. When reading from the prologue, the narrator mentioned a Nazi rocket that was on display at the Minnesota State Fair in the 50s--an image that really stuck with me. 

    The Q&A was enlightening, of course I had to pipe up and ask Chris if the Nazi rocket was historically accurate--and it was! Over her 20 years of writing the book, she naturally accumulated a lot of knowledge, especially about the Minnesota State Fair, and there was a real, honest-to-goodness Nazi V2 rocket displayed, which Chris found out about because she saw a picture of it at one of the "History of the State Fair" kiosks. Fun fact--there's a more established "History of the Minnesota State Fair" site & that picture is nowhere on display. Chris was wry when she told us about that.

    Lee was asked how long he had been writing poetry and told a story about how in grade school he used to pass notes with a classmate--in the form of poems. So for him (like me!) poetry goes waaayyyy back. My grade school poetry writing was as a way to woo girls (yes, dear non-existent reader, girls) so I enjoyed his anecdote. 

    Since the audience was small, or more likely because I can't help myself, I also asked Lee a question--which poets inspired him or his work--to which he gave a list that included Jack Gilbert, Ada Limón, Ellen Bass, Victoria Chang and I believe Catherine Barnett (but possibly Catherine Garnett?) Many of which I haven't read before--so I'll have to explore some of their work. I love finding new poets!

    The host, whose name was possibly Matthew (a lovely gentleman with this flowy blue shirt and great taste in necklaces) flipped the same question to Chris, who mentioned The Turquoise Ledge by Leslie Marmon Silko, as well as the authors Louise Erdrich, and Susan Power. Again--I haven't read any of these authors, so I will have to check out their work.

    Overall, both authors were extremely gracious and the readings they chose were in parts eye opening, powerful and pleasing to the ear. I'm glad I went! 

City of Ruins

 

    I arrived in Minneapolis on Monday 2/28, after having driven 716 some odd miles, a journey of over 11 hours. It was worth it to leave Detroit behind. Yesterday, I explored some of the city, going first to the Mill Ruins Park, then to Minnehaha Falls. I am slowly falling in love with this city--it wears its broken bones like a corset. I love the way nature erupts into the midst of things--the way the snow comes like an old friend in the night. I can see myself settling down here in the twin cities--there's something here that makes me feel strangely comfortable. 

    Tomorrow I'm going to the Walker Art Museum to wander around before the Magers & Quinn Bookstore poetry reading (Lee Thomas and Chris Stark) & I'd like to try to sneak in a trip to the Fort Snelling State Park earlier in the day. 

    Yesterday and today I started to feel that I was "falling behind" in my writing--and it's true, but I also haven't created a regular system, or schedule of writing--the muse still doesn't know where to find me. I've been living so erratically--jumping from city to city, it's exciting but also it frustrates my ability to find a settled routine. 

    Today's daily card was the 2 of Swords. Representing difficult choices, indecision and stalemate. "Being at a crossroads, this is a moment when you must make a difficult choice. One path closes the other and your decision is hanging in a perfect equilibrium and balance, making the choice ever more difficult. There is no clear winner, but to progress, one must take a stand." I feel like I need to make a choice about how I'm going to continue financing this journey. That's going to take some serious thinking. I'm not hopeless, that's for sure--but I'm uncertain about what to hope for. 

    Today's random poem is by Bhaswat Chakraborty, entitled "Mother" and there's one stanza that sticks out for me:

            "From the foes you saved me/ Allowed friends to be close/ You took the prick of the thorn/And handed me the rose." 

Remember too, the words of Sheila Moon from A Magic Dwells:

“If we can but learn, as this myth shows, the simple and hard lesson of emergence, of going into the darker places to follow the restless longing upward, of letting no small thing stay forgotten and unhonored, then we shall be whole. Then we shall be related to the unconscious powers within us of life and God. 

This is redemption.” 

    Tomorrow's going to be a good day, I'm going to make it one! 

Runnin'

    This morning, well, in about 7 hours or so, we're going to "wake up" & ditch this shitty AirBnb. No shower? SEE YA. "It's dangerous to park on the street"? SEE YA. Bugs in my bedroom? SEE YA. Delightful Chinese Man? OK, Him I will miss. The smell of fried fish that's pervasive throughout the house? Not so much. So I'm a stupid bitch, what else is knew. Listen, I'm out, I've already made up my mind, so tomorrow morning as soon as the Red Truck unblocks Betty White (my vehicle) I am going to drive to downtown Detroit, get myself a coffee, wait for the public library to open & then explore & take pictures. Then Betty & I are OUT.

    My tarot card for the day is 4 of cups reversed. That represents boredom, taking things for granted & aloofness. True, true & true. I AM getting bored of my Disaster Road Trip. Yes, I embarked on this journey to save my life, but now that I've saved my life, I'm bored of my life. The card meaning reads "In your search for something meaningful, you have perhaps been lead to ignore the potential happiness that is given to you. So much inner focus has made you lose your way & you have begun to deny the wonders that the world offers. Find Balance. You must look both inward & out."

    So, this is me looking outward. Sort of. I don't precisely enjoy the fact that I'm being a Queen B Diva about this AirBnb, but also, I have a certain standard that I don't think is that outrageous. No fish smell, no constant noises, no bugs, a working shower--these are some of my must haves. BUT I also came to Detroit because I thought, I believed there was a reason for me to be here. By up & runnin', like I'm about to do (To Iowa City, of all places???) then I'm either denying the reason I've been sent here, OR this is the reason I was sent here. To realize it's not going to be all joy & jellybeans, that this journey is going to throw some shit my way. My choices were to accept the situation & make the best of it, or run. I'm choosing to run--that's the choice I always make, isn't it? So, I am about to find out, I guess, whether or not I am making the right choice or the wrong one.

    I haven't meditated since Providence. That's not great. I also haven't written seriously since then either. Why? What's going on with me?

    I randomly opened the Bible app on my phone & today's verse is Proverbs 12:24, "The hand of the diligent shall bear rule, but the slothful shall be under tribute." FUCKING YIKES, RIGHT? Well, that's the KJV version, but the rest are pretty similar:

Proverbs 12:24 — The New International Version (NIV)

24 Diligent hands will rule,
but laziness ends in forced labor.

Proverbs 12:24 — New Living Translation (NLT)

24 Work hard and become a leader;
be lazy and become a slave.

Proverbs 12:24 — The New King James Version (NKJV)

24 The hand of the diligent will rule,
But the lazy man will be put to forced labor.

Proverbs 12:24 — New Century Version (NCV)

24 Hard workers will become leaders,
but those who are lazy will be slaves.

    There are even MORE versions of the bible, but suffice to say--I've been lazy, and that's going to lead to me being a slave. That's in direct contrast to the Rumi quote that took my breath away the other day.

    On the bright side--I still have my sobriety, although that was sorely tested yesterday--as soon as I entered the state of Michigan it was one billboard after another being like "Recreational & Medicinal! Come Get Stoned!" and boy was my mouth watering at the thought. Perhaps that's the real reason I'm running, because I'm afraid if I stay that I'll get high? 

    

    I suppose the first thing I need to do is focus on finding the balance that I'm missing. Between meditation & working, between staying & running, between hope & fear. I won't run down the long list of dichotomies, but suffice to say: I have my work cut out for me. 

  

     So, wish me luck, non-existent readership! Cause come hell or high water, I'm getting the FUCK out of here tomorrow. I've fought hard to get away from an awful situation & a very stupid version of myself that was achieving nothing & losing everything. I'm not going back to who I was & I'm going to keep moving forward--there's something better for me waiting ahead, I feel that to be true. I won't get there high though, and I won't get there if I drench myself in pity & light the match. So yeah, screw Detroit, mama's hitting the road tomorrow, or rather, later today. 

Notes from Virtual Reading & Conversation: Original Poetry & Translation w/ Carlie Hoffman, Rajiv Mohabir, Ricardo Alberto Maldonado, and Marci Calabretta Cancio-Bello

 

    Tonight was the second back-to-back event with Four Way Books authors, hosted by Halsey from White Whale. Halsey was rocking a bold dark lip, like can they stop being so iconic already? Tonight's poets were also translators and it was really horizon broadening to hear poetry read not only in different languages but from different cultural perspectives. 

    The strange synchronicity with Jewish themes was evident again tonight. Carlie Hoffman translated the works of Selma Meerbaum-Eisinger, a Jewish German poet who died in the labor camp Michailowka in Ukraine. She was 18, and writing some of the most tragically beautiful poetry. Carlie spoke about how her writing involved dreams and nature, which was in its own way, an act of resistance, since these were traditionally "looked down on" in terms of poetic subject matter.

    Some of the lines that stuck with me were from the piece "Crystal" --again, the things that stayed with me were the most evocative, such as "a flock of fallen leaves,", "frost jeweled flowers," "an eagle floats overhead," and "a patch of grass the sun has chosen to adore."

    Carlie Hoffman also read some of her own poetry, which was just as powerful. There was one poem, "Exoskeleton" that had this line "we grow sick of the prayers we knife into our thighs," which lingered with me. 

    Rajiv Mohabir was next, and he introduced his work as "deviant translations" meaning he was pushing the translated works as far as he could, so that they may not be recognizable "word for word" but were "situational, specific" and had a lot of energetic musicality.  

    Some of my favorite lines from Rajiv's translations were "At night my love sits me in a full moon's light," & "At dawn don't leave behind the thought of me and go." Also there was a really interesting line that was like "swagger man, fly mouth, what is true." And in the second to last last piece he read "Bollywood Confabulation" (a great name by any measure) there was this line "Petals shrivel but thorns stay sharp." The very last piece Kalapani utilized the repetition of defining the word, so that each line started with "means" as a continuation from the the title. So Kalapani "means sea crossers" "means to forget secrets and rituals" "means to mislay your name" "means America" "means voyage" "means planting seeds in your ancestors sweat." And was by far the most powerful piece (in my opinion!) that Rajiv read tonight. 

    The next poet & translator was Ricardo Alberto Maldonado, who was born and raised in Puerto Rico. He is working (with others) on translating a group of Puerto Rican poets whose work goes back as early as 1912. I think it was brave of Ricardo to read his poetry in Spanish--and I wish I knew the language! I did learn from him that Spanish is just as much of a colonial language as English, which is probably obvious to others--but was a shock to me. 

    The last poet to speak was Marci Calabretta Cancio-Bello who translated poetry from Korean into English. The book "The World's Lightest Motorcycle" was launched January of this year, and Marci worked on the translation alongside E.J. Koh. The poetry was really fascinating in that it blended "ancient Buddhist traditions" with modern technology. There were lines like "People everywhere walk with plugs extended from their body, charged with the world's rage" which is so amazingly precise in regards to what's happening in the world. Another poem was called "Dark and bulging TV in me" and went back and forth between the poets body being "released" in 1968 & this bulky TV from 1990. There were lines from that piece that stayed with me like "Somehow the TV in my body won't turn off" & "things crouching in the darkness, fluttering things." 

    I also learned from Marci's reading that the Korean language has a "nebulous syntax" because of a lack of punctuation. One of Marci's original poems was just as powerful, in my opinion as Yi Won's, it was called "Origin Adoption" and there was this line that stuck with me: "These days on this other hemisphere, I twist my second mother's words from my tongue, like I do fruit from my neighbors trees." Just stunning & profound imagery. 

    During the Q&A, the poets were first asked "What came first, fluency or translation?" 

    For Carlie, translation, specifically a class she took on the subject while obtaining her MFA was what led her into working with Selma's poetry. She said, "If you're a poet, you live with words and music." 

    Rajiv mentioned how it was traumatizing to lose a language, especially for immigrants as that is a core piece of the past. He described being enchanted by his grandmother's lost language but specifically songs & music. He felt it was a "charge" he was given, spiritually, in this life, to translate the songs & poetry. 

    Ricardo grew up fluent in Spanish & English, so for him fluency sort of came first. He talked about the ethics and responsibility inherent in translation, and also spoke a bit more about the impacts Hurricane Maria had on his life. He also mentioned Beyonce's lemonade, and how she was ethical in her translation. 

    Marci was adopted, but her mother was Korean and she described the language as "the heartbeat of her mother" and how it was the language spoken when she was in the womb. That being said, translation came first since she wasn't fluent, being raised, I believe in America. 

    The second question of the night was the one I submitted, so that was a nice surprise. I asked "Were there any words that were difficult or impossible to translate directly into English? If so, what was the word & what word did you end up using?"

    Carlie spoke about how Selma wasn't writing in "High German" but a "secret language" that was a mix of Yiddish & German and involved a lot of neologisms or almost made up words. Also, Selma's poetry involved a lot of rhyming--& Carlie wanted to honor that, but wasn't always able to with the direct translation. To compensate, Carlie talked about using internal rhyming to honor Selma's original poetic style. The word that she referenced that was difficult to translate directly was "Mutterleib" I think, which meant "mother womb." Carlie talked about how important context became in determining how to translate the poetry, and that she would go back through old journals and memoirs to find other ways to dive deeper into the world & time in which the poet was writing. 

    Rajiv also spoke about the importance of the "Train of Context." He mentioned there were cosmological roadblocks he would run into. He also spoke on the word "juta" (I'm unsure of precise spelling, could be joota or jutaa) which means variously "unclean" or "contaminated" but in the sense that if food has already been touched by someone, or touched their mouth. A good example would be if someone took a drink from a glass & there was "backwash" or if someone ate with a spoon, you wouldn't want to give that used spoon to a guest. 

    Ricardo spoke on how American idiomatic language could be difficult to translate into Spanish, for example fine differences between "take in," "take on," etc--and how important context became in determining how to translate the text into Spanish. He also spoke about how there were some Spanish words that were "reflexive" with the subject proposed within a word such as the Spanish word for "to love myself." 

    Marci spoke about difficulty she and her fellow translator had with a prose poem piece called "Between a Rice Bowl and a Shadow" (I think that was the name) in which a "bell" turned up and seemed really out of place. The poet was still alive, so they were able to go directly to the source, and it was referencing a Buddhist funerary bell, which was contextually specific to a ceremony. Marci also talked about how Korean assumes a pronoun is known--so may not specify "you" or "we" or "I" and that the translator has to make a decision about the subject sometimes. Marci asked, "What does accuracy mean?" Is it more accurate to preserve the original poets lyricism & rhythm, or the visual nature of the line, or the specific word meaning? It is a difficult question to answer, but Marci indicated it was easier when working with other translators on the same piece, and that it was important "not to rush" decisions, but to spend time thinking on the matter. 

    Overall, it was a wonderful experience getting to hear these poets discuss the finer points of translating poetry from other languages, and was a genuine joy to hear them read their original work as well! 

Notes From Virtual Poetry Launch Reading & Conversation! Four Way Books w/ Yerra Sugarman, Cyrus Cassells, and James Fujinami Moore

 

    Tonight I was an audience member for the Virtual Poetry Launch Reading & Conversation! Four Way Books w/ Yerra Sugarman, Cyrus Cassells, and James Fujinami Moore. I did drop off during Cyrus' reading and missed most of James' reading--but the host said they would send me a recording. 

    Initial notes: Both Yerra & Cyrus mentioned or read poems that touched on Jewish themes. For Yerra, her poetry was about her Aunt Bird, who was a holocaust victim. Cyrus' piece "Ready, Aim, Fire" (I believe) included a line about a Rabbi needing to put up signage that said "Firearms not allowed in synagogue pews, nor near the Torah" (I'll need to buy his poetry and come back to revise this if I'm not quoting precisely). 

    How strange, the synchronicity occurring here. The last poem I read at the open mic in Providence (The Smile) was about Majdanek, a concentration camp in Poland, and Yerra & Cyrus both discussed how they visited Krakow. Also yesterday on our walk, we passed the Gates of Wisdom Jewish cemetery with the fallen tree and the gravestones that were knocked over. This in conjunction with me recently finding out I have an estimated 6% Eastern European Jewish DNA (From region of Belarus, Hungary, Lithuania, Latvia, Moldova, Poland, Romania, Ukraine) and the message, at least to me, seems clear: I need to work harder to uncover whatever part of my past is connected to my until recently totally unknown Jewish ancestry.

    Anyway--back to tonight's reading. Yerra's poem "I Have Nothing to See Her With" was short, but resonated deeply with me. Her Aunt Bird "whose life is a ripped page"  was someone she didn't have much knowledge about--and the poet described how the information she needed was "accidentally" found or sort of dropped into her lap when she was exploring a repository of information about the holocaust in Jerusalem--I believe Yad Vashem. She also mentioned that she found information unexpectedly about her aunts (plural!) from the DC Holocaust museum. 

    Yerra also read from her 5 part poem, I think it was called "Hampered, Conjured"? or Perhaps "Bone by Bone She Remembered" (My Zoom connection was really cranky tonight) but anyway--there were a few lines that stuck with me, such as "The meat of her voice" (the poet described her aunts life being like a stew in her mouth, a strange but evocative line) and how bone by bone her aunt's body changed into light. Other images "the city's starless womb" & "sonorous with horseflies" -- these are lines that stuck with me because of what they conjured up in my mind--a city's sky darkened by light pollution, the buzzing of horseflies--and I need to inject my own poetry with more of this type of power. 

    Another line that struck me hard was "God was a runaway child who ate the Earth with a spoon." Damn, Yerra, you really hit me over the head with your work tonight! No wonder she has been the recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship in Poetry, PEN American Center’s PEN/Joyce Osterweil Award, a “Discovery”/The Nation Poetry Prize, the Poetry Society of America’s George Bogin Memorial Award and its Cecil Hemley Memorial Award, a Canada Council Grant for Creative Writers, a Chicago Literary Award, and a Glenna Luschei Prairie Schooner Award.

    Guess I'm obsessed with Yerra Sugarman now. I have to mention another line, the last line, that stayed with me, where she was asking "How to turn grief into a green stem sprouting." 

    So, for Cyrus, he mentioned he had an epigraph poem "Dark Fields of the Republic" by Adrienne Rich, which I've never heard of so want to read now. His poem "Ready, Aim, Fire" and his second piece, dealt with timely issues--such as gun control & stand your ground murders in Florida. Right before my internet connection dropped I remembered a line he read that was like "A rushing bullet is not a dream."

    THEN--I lose connection and came back in for the very end of James Fujinami Moore reading. I have to say, James was a real hottie. He had sort of longish black hair pulled back into a ponytail and a white button up shirt that was unbuttoned just enough. ANYWAY, I heard most of his last poem "All I Couldn't Make Beautiful" which was redolent with images--like James as a young man making figures of the virgin Guadalupe? I remember the line where he described it as making "golems out of stolen scraps of clay." Golems--being a Jewish mythological figure, means each poet tonight in some way mentioned Jewish culture. 

    The Q&A was really interesting! The first question was "How do you balance timely events with the timelessness of poetry" and the poets talked variously about "maintaining a balance" that didn't erase specificity but also allowed them the freedom to write on the subject, if, in Cyrus' words "they were compelled to bear witness." Cyrus also said that he told his students frequently that their poetry-writing selves were bound to be 2 years ahead of where they were now. So some of the timelessness is built into the "consciousness" that is writing poetry. I've never heard that before--but I don't disagree with the sentiment. James mentioned how he had submitted his final drafts for his book in 2019, which, being before COVID was "a whole self ago." Amen, James, Amen. 

    The second question was about the poets research process when writing poetry. Yerra talked about her research into Holocaust databases & sources, and how she visited Krakow. Cyrus lived in the Jewish Quarter in Paris, and also visited Krakow. They did want to ensure accuracy of information--but also allowed for "serendipity" to play its role as well. Cyrus especially made a point to say that "messengers and guides came with the information" he needed organically. He spoke about how he felt he was being made a "repository of information" which was necessary because the older generation who was passing on this information was dying out as time went on--and there was a "collective need" for a language that helps us to understand what happened. 

    James' answer to the question about he researched his poetry is most similar to what I do. He agreed with Yerra & Cyrus that there was a responsibility of "truth-telling" but his own approach was "scatter-shot" based on his instincts and involved falling down rabbit holes. He talked about how he would get stuck on an unresolved question or image that needed to be explained, that would "loop" in his brain. 

Tonight was so good, I went ahead and registered for tomorrow's event as well: Virtual Reading & Conversation: Original Poetry & Translation w/ Carlie Hoffman, Rajiv Mohabir, Ricardo Alberto Maldonado, and Marci Calabretta Cancio-Bello. 

Hopefully my Zoom will play nice. 

Rumi-nations

    The book of Rumi's poems I have (201-400) starts with an introduction that reviews the author A.J. Berry's life. In it, there is mention of a Renard Alleyne Nicholson, an "eminent authority on Islamic mysticism." He is described as "a very shy and retiring man" so naturally, I'd be desperate to be friends with him if I was a young man at the time. I always think "shy and retiring men" are closeted though, so perhaps I'm making snap judgments. ANYWAY there's a poem by him on xi, which the author presents as an example of the influence Rumi had on this man's way of thinking. I won't quote the entire piece, but some specific stanzas jumped out at me:

        "Deep in our hearts the Light of Heaven is shining/ Upon a soundless Sea without a shore./ Oh, happy they who found it in resigning/ The images of all that men adore." 

    I began this book yesterday evening after the blog post in which I made my metaphor about holding on to a whale in the middle of a vast sea, and feeling that if I let go I would drown but also understanding that if the whale decided it wanted to dive, I too would go down with it. Faith, I believe, is knowing the whale won't drag you down, the whale being this force much mightier than yourself. 

    "Like Harut and Marut, that Angel-pair/ Who deemed themselves the purest of the pure." 

I didn't know who these two characters were, so here's what Wiki tells me:

Harut and Marut (Arabic: هَارُوْت وَمَارُوْت, romanized: Hārūt wa-Mārūt) are two angels mentioned in Quran 2:102, who are said to have been located in Babylon.^[1][2] According to some narratives, those two angels were in the time of Idris. The Quran indicates that they were a trial for the people and through them the people were tested with sorcery. The story itself parallels a Jewish legend about the fallen angels Shemḥazaī, ʿUzza, and ʿAzaʾel. The names Hārūt and Mārūt appear to be etymologically related to those of Haurvatat and Ameretat, two Zoroastrian archangels.^[3] 

There's more digging I would like to do to find out more about these two who were referenced in regards to "Blind eyes, to dote on shadows of things fair/ Only at last to curse their fatal lure."

The poem goes on to state:

"Love, Love alone can kill what seemed so dead,/ The frozen snake of passion. Love alone,/ By tearful prayer and fiery longing fed,/ Reveals a knowledge schools have never known."

"God's lovers learn from Him the secret ways/ Of Providence, the universal plan."

The word Providence jumped out at me, considering my recent stay in that city. The poem continues with this stanza:

"There are degrees of heavenly light in souls;/ Prophets and Saints have shown the paths they trod,/ Its starting points and stages, halts and goals,/ All leading to the single end in God."

A neat stanza, both in terms of "hey that's neat!" and in the sense of being tidy with the rhyming end words of souls, trod, goals, God. The final stanza reads:

"Love will not let his faithful servants tire,/ Immortal Beauty draws them on and on/ From glory unto glory drawing nigher/ At each remove and loving to be drawn./ When Truth shines out words fail and nothing tell;/ Now hear the Voice within your hearts. Farewell." 

This poem by Nicholson is compared to one by Al-Hallaj (or Mansour Hallaj, who was crucified in 922) in which a stanza is quoted on xii:

    "Now stands no more between the Truth and me/ Or reasoned demonstration,/ Or proof or revelation;/ Now, brightly blazing full, Truth's luminary,/ That drives out of sight/ Each flickering, lesser light."

    This is from the Qur'an:

    "God is the light of heavens and the earth;/ the likeness of His Light is as a niche/ wherin is a lamp/ (the lamp in a glass,/ the glass as it were a glittering star)/ kindled be a Blessed Tree,/ an olive that is neither of the East nor of the West/ whose oil well-nigh would shine, even if no fire touched it./ Light upon Light,/ God guides to His Light whom He will." 

    That is from An-nur, verse 35. I'm not sure if I'm referencing the Qu'ran correctly here. 

     From this collection of Rumi's work, so far Poem 208 stands out as particularly resonant for me:

    "Every day I bear a burden, and I bear this calamity for a purpose:/ I bear the discomfort of cold and December's snow in hope of spring./ Before the fattener-up of all who are lean, I drag this so emaciated body."

    This part strikes me as relevant to my situation because I did stop eating before I left Virginia and I have become more emaciated than I would like. I am slowly starting to gain weight again. The poem continues:

    "Though they expel me from two hundred cities, I bear if rot he sake of the love of a prince;/ Though my shop and house be laid waste, I bear it in fidelity to a tulip bed./ God's love is a very strong fortress; I carry my soul's baggage inside a fortress."

     Here I am, travelling around the United States, and I've visited 5 cities so far (including the one I am now, Pittsburgh) and I am carrying my baggage around--both physical and spiritual/emotional. The poem ends:

    "He said, "Will you bear this sorrow till the Resurrection?"/ Yes, Friend, I bear it. I bear it./ My breast is the Cave and Shams-e Tabrizi is the Companion of the Cave."

    First, I didn't know there was a correlating "Resurrection" in Islamic belief, but more to the point--the words, "I bear it. I bear it" are what I must tell myself as I continue my journey into the west. There will be times when I must bear my sorrow--and perhaps I will have to do so until the end of my time on Earth. But having a "Companion of the Cave" will be important--I must find that person, or recognize that I have found them already.